[b]RCNS [i]Anna Karenina[/i]
New Columbia High Orbit[/b]

The Commonwealth battlecruiser shuddered as X’Cor railguns punched through the flak shell and smashed against the shields. A division of cruisers had broken off from the main fleet and was specifically targeting the [i]Anna Karenina[/i], and her shields were beginning to wither under their combined fire. Though she was at the head of the Federation formation, the battlecruiser was keeping herself slightly angled off axis against the X’Cor ships, exposing her heaviest defences to their fire while keeping her more vulnerable areas protected.

Captain Wellesley’s eyes flickered around the main display, absorbing a thousand details every minute. The assault shuttle turned VIP transport was safely on world; the safety of the UFS and Commonwealth delegations lay squarely in the Federation’s hands now. It occurred to Wellesley that he might never see Ribbentrop again, but he clamped down on that line of thought before it led to darker places. The courier boats had popped into warp; they’d be arriving in nearby UFS systems within a few hours. The three headed into the Commonwealth would soon be across the border, and then their message would race across the subspace network to Corinthene and Praetoria. Wellesley briefly pondered the diplomatic implications of the X’Cor incursion. They would almost certainly find themselves at war with the Federation after such a brazen attack, and likely the Commonwealth as well. It was hard to say who between the X’Cor and Wellesley had actually shot at eachother first, but with relations already tense, there was no way the Commonwealth would tolerate what could be described as “an unprovoked and illegal attack on a Commonwealth warship”.

It was unlikely that any forces from the Commonwealth would arrive in time to make a difference in this opening engagement, but UFS forces might. “Comms!” Wellesley barked, “Ask Admiral Monroe if we can expect Federation reinforcements, and when they might arrive. Tactical, charge axial weapons, bring railgun defensive fire to 100%, prepare five delayed missile salvoes for simultaneous alpha strike.” A chorus of ‘aye sir’ was the reply.

The composition of [i]Anna Karenina[/i]’s broadside noticeably changed. The number of high velocity rounds pummeling the X’Cor diminished, while the flashes of flak and EM charges increased in intensity. The constant barrage of missiles stopped as well. It was an entirely too ominous pause. In the clear space within the battlecruiser’s defensive fire perimeter, missiles were carefully being ejected and positioned with the tiniest tuffs from maneuvering thrusters. The loss of initial acceleration from the launchers reduced the missiles’ maximum speed, making them easier to shoot down, but the sheer volume of missiles from delayed salvoes more than offset that hindrance. Deep within the Commonwealth battlecruiser, her axial weapon began powering up, causing lights to flicker and dim throughout the ship as massive amounts of power were siphoned up for the spinal mounted superlaser.

On the bridge, a X’Cor cruiser was selected, and targeting sensors honed in on its signature. Wellesley didn’t display so much as a flicker of emotion as he spoke: “Fire.”

A veritable hellstorm blasted towards a single X’Cor cruiser. First, the missiles flared to life and blazed towards their target. The first wave erupted into false signals and jammers, easing the path of the ion warheads behind them. Some were of course taken out by point defence, but not enough. Three salvoes of ion warheads swept away the cruiser’s shields in seconds, and glowing plasma detonations raked its hull in the seconds that followed. In the same instant, all four gamma laser turrets lashed out in rapid fire mode, melting armour and piercing the ship’s vitals. Barely half a second later, the axial superlaser smashed into the cruiser in a torrent of heat and radiation. At some point, one--or perhaps both--of the X’cor vessel’s twin nuclear reactors were breached, and the cruiser vanished in fiery inferno.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

[b]City of Vandea
Sthis Eban[/b]

Martuf was doing his best to relax. Really, he was trying, but relaxing wasn’t something that came easily to him these days. Even here, on his world, one of the few places he could feel safe, he was still like a tightly coiled spring. The drinks and the narcotics and the dancers were doing their best to take the edge off, but Martuf found he could barely focus on any of them. His companions were certainly enjoying themselves; a variety of sycophants and lackeys that inevitably surrounded most people in positions of power, especially in the Yanissan Principalities. The dancers, males and females of half a dozen different species, certainly were alluring, each in their own way. Occasionally one of Martuf’s companions would call one or two over and the lot of them would disappear into a backroom, emerging later with satisfied smiles. Martuf smiled slightly as a Valerian dancer approached him and put on a truly stunning display of acrobatic sensuality. Sthis Eban certainly was a vast improvement over Praetoria. Vit’azny brothels didn’t compare to anything in the Principalities. They reflected the Vit’azny mindset; to the point and pragmatic, with minimal luxury. In the Principalities, it was all about subtlety and mystique, hence the popularity of dancers; one should never be able to tell the difference between entertainment and a proposition.

The dancer’s routine concluded to lazy applause, and he gave Martuf a pointed look. Martuf lightly shook his head, but the dancer persisted. “Are you sure, my Lord? I have a new dance I’d like to show you in private. I call it the Kingkiller.”
Martuf sighed. Duty called.

The two of them retired to one of the salon’s private rooms. As the dancer closed the door and activated a privacy field, Martuf felt a twinge of irritation. “I’m trying to relax here, if you hadn’t noticed, I can hardly be on duty all the time,” he said peevishly.
“You were doing a terrible job of it,” the dancer commented blandly. “Besides, you [i]are[/i] on duty all the time.”
“Fine. What’s so important that it couldn’t wait?”
“Some odd shipments going into the Cormyrean Confederation. There’s no formal contact with the Confederation, so this is all private trade we’re talking about. CID keeps an eye on traffic headed to the Confederation, but we didn’t notice a pattern in their data until a few hours ago. Weapons, armour, first aid supplies; all the basics for supplying an uprising.”

Martuf scratched his chin.“So somebody in the Commonwealth is funding a rogue faction in the Confederation. I can’t say I saw that coming.”
The dancer nodded. “It’s certainly out of the blue. We’re working the suppliers on this end, but whoever’s doing this has it buried deep. We’ll need time to unwrap the layers. Do you want us to intercept all future shipments?”
“No, I’m rather curious. Let’s find out who they’re going to. Put Javelin on it.”
“Javelin? You think it’s that important?”
“It might be, but otherwise we’re having a quiet month so I think we can spare her. And tell Bolthole to cycle Kingkiller out of the code list. Now, you’d better actually have a new dance ready, every idiot with a thing for feathers is going to want to see it now.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday Martuf.”
“Good. Let’s see it.”

It was actually a very good dance, and Martuf finally felt himself begin to relax.